


Eat the damn soup

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, Stubborn Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets sick, and John wants to rip his throat out because he refuses to eat anything</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat the damn soup

**Author's Note:**

> I was laying in bed sick and wanted a sappy sick fic of Sherlock and John, I got fed up and made one to my liking. Enjoy.

Sherlock was shocked when the woman sneezed on him, he was hunched over to hear the soft speaking short woman as she recalled what she had saw, “I just walked into his room and.......he was there.... Ble.......blee....blee....” and before Sherlock could question her on the sudden stammering she sneeze on his face. He stood straight up and walked away from the lady, wiping his face off with his scarf, grimacing at the fact that his mouth was open during that. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” she had called after him, turning 50 shades of red and wiping her nose, “John, we’re leaving, now,” he stated as he walked by the short man, “What, why? We just got here, did you finish talking to the witness?” John chased after him, “Yes, I talked to her and she knows nothing other than being rude.” 

Sherlock couldn't help but make a face at the thought of all the little germs crawling along on his tongue, mingling with his own cells, contaminating the previously healthy ones. He was going to get sick and he knew it. God, how he hated being sick, he made toxic out of any experiment he was going at the time from sneezing or coughing, not to mention all he could do was sleep. 

What he didn't count on was what John would do with him sick.

“I told you I’m fine!” Sherlock strained to raise his voice, his throat felt like it was bleeding and peeling like a sunburn. He’s nose was stopped up and he couldn't breath out of it, causing him to mouth breath and god forbid mucus got stuck in his throat, then he couldn't breath at all. John just stared at the man in disbelief, he had just caught him before he fell on his way to the bathroom. “Sherlock, you need to eat,” Sherlock tucked his legs up onto the couch, covering himself up with the blanket Mrs. Hudson had brought up for him, “I do not need to nor do I want to,” the short man rolled his eyes, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the small chair nearby, “I’m not leaving until you eat something,” he said disappearing into the kitchen.

Sherlock found himself nuzzled against the couch cushion, sweating heavily and confused, “John?” struggled to sit up, the thicker blanket was wrapped up in his legs, “John!” he let out again, falling off the sofa and onto the ground. The sun had gone down, if he could get his damn legs untangled he could check the time. A pair of quick footsteps came into the room, “Christ, Sherlock, what did you do? Are you okay?” he pushed himself up and looked at John.

“You were masturbating,”

“I was not!”

Sherlock laughed at the man, he was obviously lying through his teeth. His hair on his forehead was sticking to his skin and mused up a little like he had be toying with it, light sweat had gather at his collar and chest, which was bare, he was in nothing but light blue briefs that had a predominant dark spot on the front.

“You were too, I’m out here marinating in my own juices and you’re in there doing the Devil’s Handshake!”

John turned red, covered himself, and looked anywhere but Sherlock, “For fucks sake, Sherlock, what do you need?” he let out oh very annoyed, Sherlock laughed, had a coughing fit, and tried getting up again. He freed himself during the fit and sat on the sofa, “Well one, you need to admit you were doing The One Man Tango and two, where did this blanket come from?” John shook his head, “I’m not going say I did anything of the sorts! And around 10 you were shivering, teeth clattering shivering, so I took the top blanket off your bed and put it on you,” Sherlock looked at the time, it was a quarter past 2, “Hopefully before you Choked The Snake,” he said to himself, “You have work in the morning, why are you even still up?” John looked down at his feet and laughed, “I called in sick, you’re eating some damn soup in the morning even if I have to shove it down your fucking throat.”

“SHERLOCK, JUST EAT THE DAMN SOUP” John shoved the bowl near Sherlock, who shoved it back.  
“NO, I’M NOT HUNGRY”  
“YOU HAVEN’T EATEN IN THREE FUCKING DAYS, PLEASE JUST EAT THE FUCKING THING”  
Sherlock cleared his throat, it hurt like a motherfuck but he couldn't keep yelling because that hurt worse. John seemed to be pissed off by this clearing of the throat, slammed the bowl on the coffee table, shaking the contents and causing some to spill over the lip, and stormed out of room and the stairs. 

He sat there in shock, why the hell did that, out of all the things Sherlock has done, anger him to that extent? He threw up on John’s bed when he went to ask him to get medicine for this illness, He passed out in the shower and caused John to break into the shower, turn it off and awkwardly cover Sherlock’s dignity while he tried waking the man up, only to have Sherlock deny a trip to the hospital. He forced John to mess with his hair, just to take his mind off the fact that he felt his throat closing up, made him turn the flat’s temperature insanely low, and had John draw him a bath and clearing his throat is what pissed John off? 

John sat down on the front steps, pinching the bridge of his nose, “John, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Hudson said, coming up behind him, “He’s like dealing with a child, Mrs. Hudson, If I wanted to deal with a child I would work with children,” this humored the old woman, “No, instead you work with Man who’s like one but so much more of a smart ass it is painful,” John ran his hands over his face and tucked them under his chin, “He hasn't eaten in three days, it’s so bad for his immune system and only making him worse.” She put her hand on his shoulder, “I know, but he’s a stubborn thing and you've just got to work with him.”

Sherlock looked at the soup, it was the classic chicken noodle, it seemed to call him. His stomach was talking and it was pissed off and hungry. He picked up bowl, took out the spoon, and brought it up to his mouth. He inhaled deeply, letting his stomach grumble at him in anger, before taking a sip. It burned his tongue but opened up his throat and nose, it warmed his stomach and warmed his blood. He was too busy humming happily into the bowl of soup that he didn't notice John come up the stair, fully ready to say that he’s sorry for being a prick and if Sherlock needs anything, until he saw the curly haired man drinking his soup happily.

“I TOLD YOU YOU WERE HUNGRY.”

“PISS OFF.”


End file.
